


Worry Enough for Two

by innerdialogue



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, eating problems, not yet a disorder, phylacteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerdialogue/pseuds/innerdialogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Inquisitor notices that something is wrong with Cullen, he decides to confront it head on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worry Enough for Two

“You’re not eating.”

Cullen looks up from where he’s considering the chess board. The Inquisitor isn’t watching the board. Cullen’s pieces have steadily progressed across the board, the black pieces over powering the white with ease; the Inquisitor’s king will soon be in checkmate. Which apparently has more to do with the Inquisitor’s attention being focused elsewhere than it does Cullen’s strategic prowess.

“Who says I’m not eating?” Cullen’s knight takes another pawn.

“Does it matter?”

“Cassandra, then.” Cullen leans back, lifting a hand to rub at the increasingly present kink in his neck. “She’s written to you.”

“She’s concerned.”

“She should mind her own affairs.”

"Cullen, she’s only doing what you asked.”

“Then I should have asked to be left alone!” Cullen snaps. He slaps his palm against the table, upsetting the board. Pieces scatter, skittering across the table and falling off onto the floor.

The Inquisitor waits calmly, arms crossed over his chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” Cullen sighs. He clenches his fists tightly. “That was uncalled for. Please, Alfonse, forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Alfonse replies softly. Pushing his chair away, he stands to his feet and circles the table. His crouches down, wrapping a hand around Cullen’s wrist. “But I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I have been.”

“Skipping meals is not taking care of yourself. Is this because of the lyrium?”

Seeing as they are in the Inquisitor’s chambers they have the highest level of privacy available in Skyhold, but hearing it spoken aloud still makes Cullen look around in fear of being overheard. There are always ears listening and eyes watching in Skyhold—servants make the best spies after all, Leliana reminds them—but here, with the fire crackling in the hearth and the Inquisitor’s clothing scattered around, Cullen can allow himself to speak freely.

“No,” he replies quietly. “Not entirely.”

“Then what?”

Rubbing the back of his head, Cullen stands. He moves toward the fire, staring into the flames.

“I know it’s useless, but I can’t help but find myself worrying,” he says. “About you. You do not know how much it kills me when you walk through that gate and I cannot follow.”

“It’s not useless,” Alfonse says. He steps up behind Cullen, laying a hand on his shoulder. This late at night, the commander has already taken off his armor, and Alfonse relishes the warmth beneath his tunic. He squeezes gently, urging Cullen to turn around so they can look at each other in the eye. “Since Haven, I can’t help but imagine coming back to one giant pile of rubble.”

“Skyhold is capable of withstanding much more than Haven was,” Cullen replies. “You needn’t worry.”

“Then neither should you,” Alfonse assures him. He lifts his hands, cupping Cullen’s face between them. His cheeks are rough with the beginnings of a beard, longer than Cullen usually allows for himself, and Alfonse smiles. He rubs his thumbs against the bristly hairs.

Cullen’s cheeks have thinned. Not noticeably, not that anyone other than Alfonse can probably tell, but the Inquisitor holds him like this often enough to know when the shape of his face has changed. There are beginnings of a sharpness to Cullen’s face that makes Alfonse’s heart ache with concern.

There are dark circles under his eyes as well, hinting that regular meals may not be the only thing his commander is missing out on. He knows Cullen already has trouble sleeping due to his withdrawals from lyrium, but to add hunger on top of it…

“I cannot promise that I won’t get hurt,” he whispers, stepping forward until their foreheads brush. The sudden weight of Cullen’s hands on his waist makes his stomach jump excitedly. “Things happen, and we can’t control when they do. But I will promise that I will do everything in my power to return to you. Eventually.”

Cullen nods. His eyes are closed, his lashes soft fans of gold against his cheeks.

“So if I promise to be careful, can you do the same for me? I won’t like it very much the next time I come back and someone tells me that you’ve collapsed because you’re not looking after yourself like you should be. Hm?”

Cullen nods again. “I promise.”

“That’s my brave lion,” Alfonse whispers. He presses forward, touching their lips together once, twice, three times as softly as he can. “Now, I’ve got something for you.”

Pulling away (a warm curl of pleasure in his belly as Cullen’s finger clutch at his clothing for a brief second), Alfonse moves to the bedside table and draws open the drawer. He takes out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. Turning back to Cullen, he holds it out in front of him, presenting it on outstretched hands.

Cullen reaches out to take it. “A gift?”

“Of sorts,” Alfonse says softly. “It’s more of a promise. Or a request rather, I don’t—”

Cullen chuckles and unwraps the bundle, carefully unwinding the cloth to reveal a small hourglass n a chain. Inside, suspended equally between the two globes, was a dark red liquid

“This is…”

“My phylactery,” Alfonse replies. He edges in close to Cullen’s side. “I want you to keep it with you.”

“Alfonse…”

“The Circle at Ostwick fell when the Templars attacked,” Alfonse begins. “They didn’t even wait to invoke the act of annulment before bursting in while everyone was at the evening meal. While the fighting spread, Senior Enchanter Lydia and I fled with the children to the archives. There was a tunnel beneath one of the bookshelves. I’d never seen it before, but Lydia had. She told me to take the children and run as far away as we could manage. Before I did, however, she stuffed this into my hand.”

Alfonse sighs, running the tips of his fingers across the glass.

“I probably should have destroyed it. It isn’t good for anything other than helping Templars hunt me down, but I held onto it. For sentimentality, I suppose.”

“I can’t accept this,” Cullen says. He tries to force the vial into Alfonse’s hands. “You shouldn’t trust anyone with this.”

“And yet I gave it to you.” Alfonse reaches out and takes Cullen’s hands in his. Instead of accepting the phylactery, however, he simply folds Cullen’s fingers over it. “You trusted me with your struggles with lyrium. This is my way of saying I trust you.”

He leans in, pressing another kiss firmly over the scar on Cullen’s lip.

“Besides, you never know,” Alfonse chuckles softly. “I might need someone to come find me and dig me out of another snowbank. This will make the whole process easier the second time around.”


End file.
